Marks We Bear
by Skalidra
Summary: Ever since Jason came back to the family, he's struggled with being sure of exactly who and what he is. One of the worst reminders of his time as the Arkham Knight is the brand on his cheek, so finally he works up the nerve to ask one of the very few people he can still trust to help him change it. His partner, Tim.


Hello! So if you're following me on Tumblr you might know this, but JayTim week is starting. So I'm going to post something every day for the next week and (you guessed it) it'll all be JayTim oriented. So, this is day 1 of the week, with the prompt, 'Tattoo'. You know, I was _waiting_ to do a little something in the Arkham Knight universe. Enjoy!

 **Warnings** for: Past torture/branding, slight panic attack, and you know, tattooing.

* * *

"Tim?"

"Yeah?" he calls distractedly, tugging his gloves on one by one and buckling the straps.

He hears footsteps — Jason's only heard when he wants to be heard, but it makes both of them more comfortable to hear each other moving around — and then Jason's voice, closer, probably just at the door of their bedroom. "Anything going on tonight? Want me with you?"

"Standard patrol," he answers, before turning around. "Want to come? Wouldn't say no to backup, if you do."

Jason shakes his head, then steps further into the room and he pauses, watching, because there's a cautious _edge_ to Jason's movements that he hasn't seen for a long time. He stays still, using bits of strategy he hasn't in a long time to remember how to navigate around Jason when his partner's had a _really_ bad day. Jason approaches almost at an angle, head lowered a bit and a wild tinge to his gaze, and he lets Jason slip around and come up at his side, one heavy hand slipping beneath his cape to slide around his waist.

He tilts his head up — slowly — and Jason leans down and catches his mouth in a kiss too careful to be anything but seeking comfort. He doesn't reach for his partner, as much as he wants to; Jason won't appreciate being touched by anything he can't see coming. There's a faint tremble to Jason's breath when their lips part, and he gives a soft hum of pleasure to try and ease it away, tilting his head to bump their noses.

"Want to talk?" he asks in a whisper.

A small shake of Jason's head, and then his partner's free hand finds one of his, interlacing their fingers. "Stay in tonight?" Jason's voice is quiet, almost shaky. "I— I want you to do something for me."

He carefully squeezes Jason's fingers, and draws back just a touch so he can open his eyes when he answers, "Of course. What do you need, Jason?"

Jason exhales, long and slow, fingers clenching around his hard enough to almost hurt, before suddenly pulling away and letting go. He almost asks why, before Jason says, "Stay here; just a second."

Then his partner is turning and leaving the room with quick, purposeful strides, gone in just a couple seconds thanks to those long legs. He waits, hearing Jason move around the living room, then to the kitchen, and then the sound of a drawer opening and the faint rattle of something or other. He tracks Jason coming back too, until his partner slips through the doorway and moves towards him, no longer _nearly_ as sure as he was when he left. There's something in Jason's left hand, but he can't quite see what it is. At least until Jason stops in front of him and presses it into one of his hands.

It's a _tattoo gun_ .

Jason takes his other hand, squeezing it tight and shoving out a breath. "Cover the damn thing up."

He doesn't have to ask to know what Jason's talking about. What else could it be except the branded, scarred 'J' burnt into his partner's cheek? There's no other scar or mark on Jason's skin that affects his partner anywhere nearly as badly. The Joker left lots of scars on Jason, but that's the only one that has so much power over him.

"Jason— I'm not sure—"

"Tim," Jason interrupts. "Look, I'm not— This isn't something that's just out of the blue. I know I— I do stupid shit when I'm in nasty moods, but this isn't that. I've been thinking about this for awhile." Another squeeze of his hand. "I know you've tried _so_ hard to get me to see anything else in this thing, but I just _can't_ . Please, just… just make it something else. Cover it up with something. Anything."

He swallows. "Are you sure?"

Jason's eyes close, head dipping forward in a small nod. "Yeah, I'm sure. I mean, if anybody's going to mark up my face, right?"

He winces while Jason can't see it, then makes himself breathe out and push aside the lingering doubt. "Alright, how do you want to do this?"

Those blue-green eyes open again, and then Jason's mouth curls in a small, crooked little smirk. "Didn't really plan details. Thinking about it too long kinda messes me up, obviously. I, um…" A hard breath, and a small shudder. "Anything but in a chair. No— No restraints."

"You know I'd _never_ ," he pushes, relieved when Jason's gaze fixes on his face again. "At _any_ point, if you want to stop all you have to do is say it, Jason. This is a _big_ thing and I will not think any less of you for deciding you don't want it." He gets a nod, and figures that's probably the best he's going to get, so he tilts his head and thinks about what he knows of Jason's triggers, paranoia, and memories. "How about on the couch?" he offers. "You can lean up against one of the arms, so you're not on your back, and I can sit over your waist?"

Jason visibly _relaxes_ , and he feels the pressure on his fingers loosen as his partner gives a soft sigh. "Yeah, that— that sounds good."

He steps back, carefully tugging at Jason's hand to make him come along. Thankfully Jason does, because even though he knows ways to coax or push Jason into moving when he's frozen up, it's not easy and it's _not_ a good way to start something like this. Ideally, he wouldn't even want to do this now, with Jason already in a bad mood. It would be better to do it some other day, when Jason can manage himself as it happens and not let any of those terrors grip him quite so strongly. However, if Jason's been thinking about it for as long as he says he has, then there's no way that they can delay any further. Jason's finally made his mind up, and worked up the courage to ask, and he'll be _damned_ if he lets all of that just fade away.

It has to be now.

Jason follows him to the couch, and almost sits down before he pulls his partner back a touch with a small sound. "Wait, Jason. How about you and I strip down, alright?" Skin to skin contact has always been something that's relaxed Jason, and he's pretty sure that, in contrast, feeling tactical armor against him is _not_ going to be the most comforting sensation.

There's a moment of hesitation, before Jason gives a small shudder and then a nod. "Alright."

He waits until Jason starts to move, slow and halting, before he gets to work stripping out of his suit. At the pace Jason is moving, even with all of the extra pieces and catches of his suit, they're done at nearly the same time. He picks the tattoo gun back up, checking it over and making sure it's loaded with ink and everything looks right while Jason drops his boxers to the floor and then shifts to sit down on the couch. He follows, carefully settling himself over Jason's waist, bracing his free hand on Jason's shoulder so he can get there without falling over.

Jason's hands find his hips, flexing on them as he gets more or less comfortable, pressed relatively close to Jason, their chests nearly brushing. He leans forward first, catching Jason in a small kiss that he makes his partner linger in, slowly sliding his hand up Jason's neck and into his hair, so he has something to grip. He carefully pulls back after a dozen or so moments, pulling Jason down far enough that he can press their foreheads together.

"Just one word," he reminds Jason, sliding his fingers along his partner's scalp. "I've got you, Jason."

The clench of hands on his hips is telling, but there's no plea to stop, no words, so he takes a deep breath and pulls back far enough that he can get the hand with the tattoo gun between them. Jason's eyes are closed, so he waits until they flicker open, and only then carefully grips the back of Jason's skull to guide him to a decent angle. There's a small flinch when he turns the gun on, and another clench of fingers, but it smooths out. Jason takes as deep a breath as he did, and then gives a very faint nod, gaze resting somewhere around his collarbone.

To that moment he still thought Jason might back out, might decide this _wasn't_ a good idea, so he hesitates for just a second as his brain frantically tries to come up with something to actually _do_ . Then he shoves aside the hesitancy and brings the gun forward, focusing on everything he knows about tattooing. He's studied a _lot_ of things over the years, and there was a certain alias he had at one point who — supposedly — did most of his tattoos by himself. He made sure to know how to, just in case anyone who actually knew asked him.

No one's ever criticized him for not thinking his aliases through _enough_ _._

Jason stays very still, breathing a little more sharply but not enough to make him really worry, not yet. He's learned just about every tell Jason has over the years, and he really hopes that's going to be enough to let him know when he needs to stop no matter what Jason says. He also knows that Jason is _quite_ touchy about the brand, and he can't imagine that direct pain to it is an easy thing. He's seen Jason flip over just _touches_ to that scar.

He keeps a good chunk of his attention on monitoring Jason as he works, feeling the fingers on his hips tighten and release in small increments, watching the rise and fall of his chest to monitor his breathing, and keeping a careful eye on the look in his partner's eyes. Which is why he catches it when, about halfway through, Jason's gaze hazes out, going distant and blank.

He immediately stops, switching the gun off and lowering it to press flat against Jason's shoulder as he tightens his grip on his partner's skull. "Jason," he calls, lightly tugging at Jason's hair. " _Jason_ , look at me."

Jason's gaze rises to his, but the haze doesn't go away.

"Hey," he whispers, holding Jason's gaze. "Jason, I need you to come back to me, alright? I need you to focus. For me, alright?"

A small shudder, eyes closing, and then Jason's breath catches. That leads to a harder shudder, fingers tightening on his hips until it's painful, eyes sliding back open as his partner's jaw clenches down, teeth baring in a snarl. There's a wild edge to Jason's gaze, something angry and hurt that he's all too familiar with.

"Jason," he murmurs, easing his grip and making sure his voice comes out low and soothing. "Look; it's just me. Just me, remember? You can let go; I'm right here and I've got you. You're going to be okay." Jason's gaze is at least fixed on his, and there's a flicker in it that he knows means he's getting through to Jason, no matter how far down he's hidden underneath that easy anger. "I'm half your size," he coaxes, carefully rubbing his thumb into Jason's shoulder. "One toss and you could throw me across the room, Jason. You've got the power here."

Jason's eyes squeeze shut, and the snarl slips into more of a grimace. Then, slowly, it eases away, and Jason breathes out long and slow and opens his eyes again, hands easing on his hips. Still-wild eyes meet his, but Jason gives a rough snort and a tiny, forced smirk. "Too damn light," his partner breathes. "Need to eat more, babe." His voice is shaking, but at least it's something, even if it's a forced something.

"You'll have to keep cooking," he answers, with a tiny smile, before he lets it fade. "There's half left; you alright to finish?"

A pause, and then Jason gives a tiny nod. "Finish it. I— I'll manage."

He winces, and makes sure he has Jason's attention before he says, "Look _right_ at me, okay? You look right at me, Jason."

Only once he's gotten another nod does he pull the gun back up and click it back on. Jason's gaze stays on his eyes, even as he gets back to work covering up the brand. Jason's breath picks up as he works, and those hands definitely grip tight enough to bruise him once or twice, but he ignores it and keeps his focus split between the tattoo gun and Jason's eyes. Though they stay wild, they also stay fixed on his face and they don't haze out again, which is a big improvement over before. Wildness he can deal with; but Jason hazing and blanking out? That's a reaction Jason has to intense memories of torture, to _just_ the right kind of stimuli, and he doesn't ever want to be the cause of that.

He works as quickly as he can manage without messing it up, but it still takes a decent amount of time. Jason's not a complete wreck by the time he's finished, but he's definitely pretty far from alright too.

He pulls the gun back, double checking that all of his lines are right and there aren't any blank spots in it before he turns the gun off and carefully leans over to set it aside. Jason's gaze tracks him, but it's not entirely focused, though it's at least present and a long ways from blank. He loosens his grip on Jason's head and hair, pulling back up and resettling his weight over Jason's waist, resting his other hand on his partner's chest.

"Jason," he whispers, stroking his fingers over his partner's scalp, "you with me?"

Jason blinks, and then gives a halting nod. No words, but he doesn't really expect them; Jason tends to get non-verbal when he's deeper into memories of traumas. It's not always an easy thing to deal with, but he's had a lot of practice and Jason is _much_ better at responding now than when they first got together, back when Jason was very little more than a golden heart buried underneath broken anger.

"It's done," he tells Jason, keeping that same low, soothing voice. It's the best thing to talk to Jason with, so long as he's messed up enough to not be irritated at being talked to like a wounded animal. "Do you want to go see, Jason?"

Jason pulls in a sharp breath, and then gets out a grinding, "Minute."

Practice lets him recognize Jason's request for a bit of time to recover, and he gives a slow nod in answer. "Okay. As long as you need, Jason." Then, he very slowly shifts forward until he can press up against Jason's chest, lowering his head to rest against his partner's shoulder.

Equally slowly, Jason's hands leave his hips, circling his back instead and gripping tight to hold him, head turning to press down against his, breath hot against his ear. He closes his eyes, reading the faint tremble of the arms around his back and the almost-too-tight grip of them, and letting out a long breath as he relaxes into Jason's hold. _Trust_ is the very best way to get through to Jason. Being vulnerable, and _trusting_ him with it.

Sure enough, a few minutes go by and he can feel Jason very barely start to relax too, slipping back from the painful tension and to something a little more normally tense. Something more manageable.

Eventually, Jason shoves out a hard breath and loosens his grip, managing an, "Alright."

He opens his eyes and eases back enough that he can meet Jason's gaze. "Ready?" he asks, and after a second of hesitation he gets a nod.

It's a little bit of work to get both of them up to standing, but he manages it, and it takes just a bit of coaxing to get Jason to move with him back towards their bedroom and to the attached bathroom. Once they're there, Jason's gaze stays very firmly fixed on the floor, not rising up to the mirror above the sink. It takes a couple minutes of waiting, patiently, while he holds Jason's hands in his, before Jason finally turns and looks up.

Blue-green eyes widen, and he squeezes Jason's hands and explains, "It's yours now, Jason. You've taken it back a thousand times, and I didn't know a better way to show that."

He did cover the brand up, technically, but with a lack of warning and not an idea in his head, he had to go with the first thing he thought of. So he inked over the brand, but didn't change it. The new tattoo on Jason's cheek is just a 'J,' dark and obvious against his partner's skin. It's a long ways from perfect, but hopefully it will give Jason back some bit of control. If he's anywhere near the mark on this one.

Jason just stares, and he carefully adds on, "If you don't like it, I can cover it with some other design. But next time maybe give me a little more warning than two minutes to plan something." Still no answer, and he tilts himself a bit more into Jason's line of sight and asks, "Jason?"

There's a brief moment of panic as he realizes that Jason's eyes are growing wet, threatening tears, before his partner turns back to him, drops down to his knees, and yanks him forward into a hard, desperate embrace. " Thank you ," Jason whispers against his throat, voice rough and strained, and he can feel the dampness against his skin. " _Thank you._ "

He relaxes, wrapping his arms as far around Jason's shoulders as he can reach, and pressing a kiss to the closest section of skin; Jason's ear. "Of course," he answers. "Anything you need, Jason."


End file.
